


After Hell, What?

by azryal



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M, OTP Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 08:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1850716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azryal/pseuds/azryal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel needed him. Angel rescued him. Now he doesn't really know what to do with him.</p><p>Lindsey has an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Hell, What?

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after "Underneath", ep 5x17.

Lindsey keeps falling asleep, his head slipping to either side as he relaxes. Even so, after a moment or two of the silent rise and fall of his chest, he jerks awake with a startled gasp. He looks afraid, no, more than that; he looks terrified every time he opens his eyes and sees me sitting across from him. Then he softens and smiles, just a little, and nods off again.  
  
I've been staring at him for a while. I finally hear Lorne escort Harmony out of my office. I watch Eve shrug him off of her shoulder one last time before she stands and leaves, ignored and infuriated, but so grateful to be let off the hook she keeps her mouth shut. Spike sits down to my right and opens another can of beer.  
  
After a few more moments of silence broken only by Lindsey's waking gulps of air and Spike's unnecessarily loud gulps of beer, I say, "What do you think I should do?"  
  
"With him? That's your call, mate," Spike replies, crumpling the can and tossing it over his shoulder to land on my desk. "He never did me no harm, not really. Made me real again, bought me a PS 2, hooked me up with smokes, got me my own place away from here. Treated me right nice."  
  
I can't hide the scorn in my eyes when I look at him. "Oh, come on, Spike. He used you! He made a fool out of you! Don't tell me you don't have issues with him, because I know better!"  
  
There's a chuckle from the sofa, and Lindsey sits up a little straighter. "We used each other, Angel. Don't think the relationship was one sided," he slurs, or maybe purrs, his eyes sliding from me to Spike and then back.  
  
"What?" I turn to Spike again, who shrugs and lights a cigarette.  
  
When no one speaks and I continue to stare at him while he smokes, he widens his eyes and asks, dramatically, "What do you want me to say? Yeah, we shagged a time or two. B.F.D. It was good. I'm not apologizing."  
  
Lindsey laughs again, rusty sounding but genuine.  
  
"Just a time or two," Lindsey drawled out, still sounding tired and in pain. "It was good, wasn't it?" Despite his distress, he winked over in Spike's direction.  
  
"He had a good teacher," I say, flatly, to which Spike lets out a bark of amusement.  
  
"I'll bet." Lindsey's reply is dry.  
  
"You must be feeling better if you can make jokes."  
  
That rusty laugh runs down my spine, raising the hair on the back of my neck. "Yeah, I'm ready to party."  
  
"You don't sound too concerned at the moment. Considering the last time I saw you, I'd have thought you'd be ready to shit your pants thinking the Senior Partners were coming to get you again," I say.  
  
"As long as someone is wearing the pendant, they won't know."  
  
"That someone is Gunn."  
  
"I know, and I'm sorry. I wouldn't have wished that on him." His eyes meet mine. "Lilah, maybe. You? Oh, yeah. Not Gunn." He closes his eyes and sort of, shrinks, sinking farther into the plush sofa. "Why'd he do it?"  
  
Spike shrugs at me, but I know the answer to that question. "Gunn has his own reckoning to face. He felt this was the only way to even the scales, if nowhere else but in his own heart." I had a mental picture of Gunn strapped to the table, his heart exposed and beating furiously before it's torn out.  
  
Then, abruptly, Gunn's face changes to Lindsey's.  
  
"I appreciate the rescue," Lindsey says, holding his chest and wincing.  
  
I laugh at the lie. It comes out as a sort of snort.  
  
He levels his gaze at me. "Really, Angel, I do." He's serious, his eyes unshielded for the briefest of moments before he turns away. His hand trembles where it rests. "Do the heroics include a place to sleep, or am I on my own for that?"  
  
Spike stands, flicking ash all over the carpet. "I'll put him up. I have just the place."  
  
"No." It's a funny moment. Both of them look at me and blink, fluttering lashes and opening their mouths to protest. "I need to know he's safe. I still have questions."  
  
"Yeah, right. Whatever," Spike says, rolling his eyes and props one hand on his hip.  
  
"You don't need to worry about the bosses coming for me. As far as they know, I'm still…there," Lindsey says, and his trembling worsens.  
  
"You're not in any condition to go anywhere. There's a place you can rest here, in the building, under my supervision."  
  
Spike makes the same snort-like sound I did. "Oh, yeah, in your penthouse suite! Subtle, you're not, Peaches. Try again."  
  
Lindsey's eyebrows shoot up. "Peaches?" He starts to laugh, really laugh, and his breath catches in his throat. He chokes on it, almost like he's afraid to let it out.  
  
"It's not that funny. Get a grip," I mutter, standing up and reaching out for him.  
  
"Sorry," he snickers, and holds his hands up in mock surrender. "I just never realized you two had pet names for each other." He manages to get that last bit out without so much as a giggle. I wrap my fingers around his upper arm and haul him to his feet.  
  
It doesn't help now that Spike has a gleeful grin on his face, as always happiest when I'm discomfited by his behavior. "Shut up, Spike. I call you the same thing I call him."  
  
Lindsey's arm is solid, warm through the linen shirt that's speckled with Spike's blood, and mine. He's stopped smiling. "What's that?" His words were thick with suppressed humor, his eyes sleepy looking and shining up at me.  
  
"A pain in my ass."  
  
He laughs again, throwing his head back and letting loose with a terrific guffaw that shakes his entire body. His liquid gaze falls on my face as he calms. There's something disconcerting in his eyes now, an expression almost like affection, but then he pales and sways on his feet. "Whoa," he mutters, gripping my hand where it holds him and using it for support. My other hand comes up to steady him, trailing past his ribs and landing high up on his side. It looks like a caress, and, from the surprised gasp that Lindsey makes; I guess it feels like one, too.  
  
I look at Spike, who's shaking his head and pulling out another cigarette. "No, you're not subtle. Well, at least I can finally say I got there first."  
  
"If you're going to smoke another one of those things, get out of here. They smell," I order.  
  
"They never bothered you before," he says, snidely, and strikes his flint.  
  
He's working on my last nerve, and he knows it. "Spike…"  
  
"I'm leaving!" He spins and his coat swirls behind him.  
  
"Alone at last," Lindsey whispers, and when I look at him, he's smiling.  
  
Lindsey's eyes shine from beneath his lashes. "You seem happy about that. Past experiences show that being alone with me isn't good for your health."  
  
"I'm thinking somethings have changed," he tells me, inching just a little closer.  
  
I'm probably looking at him like he's got two heads, but I don't think that he notices. Of course, since I started working at Wolfram and Hart, that doesn't have the same shock value as before for me, either. "What, exactly, do you think has changed?" I ask him, noticing just now that he smells like sunshine and pine trees.  
  
"You came to get me, Angel."  
  
"You have information I need."  
  
Lindsey smirks, just a little, and it reminds me of our history. "I know you, Angel. If you hadn't wanted to get me, you would have found another way. That's just how you are. You would have never, ever sacrificed someone on your team. Not for me. Not unless you really wanted to," he continues. He never takes his eyes off of mine, not even when I straighten my arms and push him from me.  
  
What happened with Gunn is still sore, still raw, and I don't want him talking about it. "You think that means what, Lindsey? That you get off scot-free? Out of prison? Out of hell?"  
  
He swallows, visibly, audibly, and says, "I'm hoping that means you're going to give me another chance."  
  
"Another chance for what?" Even though I have him at arm's length, he's still too close. I let go of him, and he drops back down on the couch. "You're in no condition for a chance at anything right now. You can't even stand up by yourself."  
  
Lindsey takes a deep breath and pushes himself up, standing before me with a slight waver but otherwise clear eyed and resolute. "I'm not backing down from this, Angel. We didn't have it fair before, but now…"  
  
"You're losing me, Lindsey. What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
His hand slides up my arm, leaving the silk warm from his touch. "Come on, you're already sleeping in the enemy's bed," he answers. His smile is gone, but the light in his eyes isn't.  
  
"And you think you think I should invite the enemy to join me, is that it?" Hell. His hand his on my chest now, shaking still but hot and heavy and it really does feel good there.  
  
"Am I still your enemy? You tell me you don't want Wolfram and Hart to win, and that I have the knowledge to help you. You chased me into a nightmare dimension, just to get me out. I'm here now, ready to help, wanting to help, and all you can do is fall back on the old games."  
  
I really hate it when he makes sense, but I have my own argument. "Last time we met, you tried to kill me again. I can't help but think those rules still apply."  
  
"Why won't you believe me when I say I don't want them to win, either?"  
  
"I don't take too many things at face value, anymore, Lindsey," I tell him, but he's moving closer. Slowly, carefully, maybe even fearfully, he raises his hand to cup the back of my neck.  
  
"I can understand that," he says, nodding. His thumb traces under my ear. "Just give me that chance, Angel. I'm ready to take it."  
  
Once upon a time, before Connor and before I worked for Evil Inc, when I had no clue what true love and true loss was, his touch just infuriated me, made me sick. Now…ah, now it inflames me. It should be more difficult. There should be more thinking and more internal struggle, but it's one of the easiest thing I've ever done to pull him up against me and kiss him. His mouth is just as soft as it looks, open and hungry for me like he's been starving and I'm his meal.  
  
Lindsey moans, fitting himself to my frame and taking control of a kiss that I keep thinking shouldn't be happening. I don't want to argue, with him or my own confused conscience, and the slip and slide of his tongue between my lips helps me forget. His hair is heavy, heated beneath the weight and seems to wrap itself around my fingers of its own free will. Lindsey makes another sound, breathy and desperate, and allows me to pull his head back. We stare at each other for a moment, and I ask him one thing. "Here?"  
  
He nods, licking his lips and answering, "Now."  
  
It isn't how I would have done it, if I'd had time to think. I wouldn't have let him have so much power, so much control, if I hadn't been so lost in his heat and his pleasure. His gorgeous, brown hands traced across my ribs and my chest, pausing just long enough to pinch and tease each of my nipples till they were hard and tingling. His eyes watch everything: my face, his hands on me, my body tightening and shuddering beneath him. He's sitting on me, just barely grinding his ass into my groin, shifting so subtly that I initially think it's accidental. Then I groan and he laughs. He laughs even harder when I rip open his shirt.  
  
No, maybe the red sofa wasn't the best place for us to do this, but I can't complain now that I've got him bent over the back of it. The half-light in the office makes the darkened window like a mirror and I can see his face in the reflection. It’s almost funny watching him writhe and strain against an invisible partner. Should be hysterical, really, but it's my hand holding him steady at the shoulder. My hips are the fulcrums pushing him forward. My cock is causing his head to thrash and send that wild hair flying. It's the palm and fingers of my other hand that pulls and strokes and brings him off all over the couch. When he moans my name, saying it slow and gravelly, laughing is the farthest thing from my mind. I pull him to my chest and fuck up into him twice more. Growling into his ear, I bury my face in his hair and come while inside him.  
  
I could stay there for a long time, holding him in my lap like that and feeling him breathe against me, but there's a tickle of semen running out of the condom I'm wearing that's starting to bother me. I pull out and let him fall onto the cushions, limp and smiling. I take the thing off, slightly repulsed by the slimy coolness of the rubber, knot the top and toss it into the wastepaper basket in the corner.  
  
"What does a vampire need with a rubber?" Lindsey asks, his voice all sandpapery and rough and it makes me want him again, and soon.  
  
"You didn't ask about it at the time."  
  
"I was a little preoccupied."  
  
I look over at him, not offering any explanation past "I try not to take too many things for granted anymore. You never know what can happen. Besides, it was all I had in the way of lubrication."  
  
He smiles. His sleepy eyes and sleepy grin remind me how young he really is. "I'll buy that."  
  
I smile back.  
  
We straighten up the office, still naked, picking up our clothes and righting the objects we knocked over throwing them away as we removed them. I look at the ruined upholstery, and, with a sneer, turn the cushion over. Lindsey only stumbles one time, clutching at his flawless chest, and I catch him. "Enough. The cleaning crew comes in at dawn. Let's go upstairs."  
  
In the elevator, he says, "You didn't have to worry about lube, you know. I've been having my heart torn out on a daily basis for an indeterminable amount of time. I think I could handle a dry fuck."  
  
"You healed everyday?" I ask, tracing the line of his sternum.  
  
"Every time. Everything he did, I felt. Then I'd heal, and I'd forget," he says plainly. The elevator stops.  
  
"You didn't really forget, did you?" The doors open.  
  
"No. Never." He stares at the room beyond, at the darkness. Then he turns to face me. "That gonna be enough for you?"  
  
I put my hand out to stop the doors before they close again. "It's a start."  
  
I follow him into the dark room.  
  
END


End file.
